


It's Almost The End (But We'll Always Have The Scratch-marks)

by clytemnestras



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 19:20:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1576643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clytemnestras/pseuds/clytemnestras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's nothing quite so pleasurable as watching someone shatter...</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Almost The End (But We'll Always Have The Scratch-marks)

 It's almost the end,

Sherly  - JM

** End of what? - SH **

You. Me. 

Everything. - JM

** I thought you **

** liked our games - SH **

All good things. 

7:30. No pets.

\- JM

**

"Shuck off the coat,  Sherly, no need to be formal."

He stalked the edges of the room, slivers of light reflected in shining eyes.  He leaned against the light switch, swathing the room in brightness, relishing in the sound of his guest's gasp. Where a plush leather sofa and armchair used to reside in the filthy flat there was now a bed, clothed in black silk sheets.  Clothes were strewn around the floor in a haphazard pathway to the boxer-clad Consulting Criminal.

"Wh \- what?"

Jim rolled his eyes and moved forward, easing the  belstaff  coat from stiffened shoulders. "Oh, do _try_ not to mince your words, honey. I just love to hear that sexy voice when it's in control."

The close proximity let him feel the stuttered breaths as he ran his fingers over the shirt-covered chest. Jim's hands fluttered across his ribs and teased the sinewy muscles as he smiled up at his prize.

"You must be expecting to go out with a bang, then," Sherlock muttered wryly, relaxing into the touches and meeting the criminal's stare. 

"Oh, _absolutely_." Jim leant up, pressing his lips to Sherlock's jaw, nipping and sucking along the sharp lines. "I'm in the habit of ending as I meant to begin. And you're rarely so shy, can I be blamed for taking advantage?"

"You can always be blamed. Ah - no, stop." He shoved Jim away and rubbed at his jaw. "Biting, really?"

"I've never heard a complaint yet,  Sherly. Don't be the first." Sherlock glared. "Spoilsport." 

"Typical, dull. If you want to own me, you must at least surprise me." He was already righting himself, straightening his shirt and fixing his curls. He thought he was leaving.  Cute.

"Oh Sherlock, I already own you." Jim slunk forward, reaching up to play with the curls that tickled the Detective's neck, ruffling them back into flustered disarray. "I'll take your body, _again_ , then your pretty little mind. Then it's just your life you'll owe me. But that's for later - no sense in skipping the foreplay."

Sherlock's hands rested on Jim's shoulders to keep the two of them stable. "Jim from IT was a sweet lay, that doesn't mean I'll let you fuck me again."

"But you sighed so prettily that last time. We might not get another chance." The buttons of Sherlock's shirt were being deftly undone with no moves made to stop it. Good. "And this time I'll let you meet Daddy."

"I'd prefer it if you just shut up." Sherlock shoved him backwards, the two of them vaulting onto the bed. Sherlock's clothes rubbed roughly at Jim's skin, making him hiss. He breathed into the detective's mouth twice before smashing their lips together. Sherlock gasped and swallowed down the kisses, sucking desperately at the tongue spearing through his mouth.

Jim peeled off Sherlock's shirt and raked his nails along the ivory skin, reveling as stomach muscles fluttered beneath his attentions. The detective rocked needily against him, teeth sinking into Jim's lips and hands fisting harshly in his hair.

"You seem a little desperate, Sweetie", Jim breathed, yanking Sherlock's head back by his hair to suck bruises onto his collarbone. "Just  _aching _ for someone to take you on." He bit at the pale skin of Sherlock's throat. "Has Johnny-boy been leaving you undersexed?"

Sherlock growled and ground his hips, a feeble thrust at dominance. How endearing.

With a smile Jim twisted and flipped them, so Sherlock was underneath him and absolutely at his mercy. And he looked so pretty there, all scratched and bruised and bitten. "And you so love it when he praises you, don't you, beautiful? Should I try it out, shouting the acclaim of your mouth when it's wrapped around my cock? How brilliantly you can deduce how deeply I want to be fucked?" His fingers slipped into Sherlock's belt loops and dragged the trousers off, sucking at the skin they revealed. Jim palmed Sherlock's hips roughly, grinding his hand into the sharp bones as his nails dug into his round arse. 

Sherlock growled again - so feral, so _nasty_ \- and laced fingers through Jim's hair to pull him back up, fastening their lips together again. Sweat rolled off of their bodies and soaked the silk sheets until they were clinging to Sherlock's back. Sherlock babbled into his mouth;  _"fuck, stop, shut up, god."_   A stream of nonsensical expletives that rumbled deeply in his chest followed, with skin that was slick with sweat and burning up with rage and hate and want.  Jim pulled off his boxers.

Sherlock was ready to crumble and it was  _delicious _ . Jim reached between them to wrap his hand around both their cocks and met Sherlock's dazed stare before beginning to thrust.

After a deep groan Sherlock bit desperately into Jim's lips, sliding their mouths together in a wet mess. They were a perfect lack of control. The detective thrust and rocked desperately against him, craving the friction. This was brilliant. Jim's hand slipped over their cocks without rhythm, squeezing and sliding without any semblance of control - a façade, but still. 

And what a fucking mess they were making. Sweat and spit and  precome  soaked their limbs and the sheets, and  oh God -  tiny, slithering cuts painted Sherlock's skin red, pretty scratch marks weeping and colouring both of them a pale pink where they rubbed together. 

They breathed each other in, not quite able to escape symbiosis. They gasped and thrust and shuddered in time. Sherlock's fist tightened in his hair and he clung to Jim with agonising abandon, close. 

What he wouldn't give to prolong the moment, keep the memory of Sherlock Homes shattering beneath him, but all he could do was carve himself into Sherlock so deeply that neither of them could forget it. He thrust faster, muttering lowly into Sherlock's mouth. Some sudden spark of friction had Sherlock arching up off the bed and they rocked once, twice, before he spilled and collapsed into a shivering mess.

It took moments, looking at the gasping, glassy-eyed mess beneath him for Jim to follow.

They should have scrambled apart. He waited for precise hands to shove him away, elegant legs to kick him off of the bed, but either Sherlock had softened of he was too exhausted to move. He liked it. He pressed his head onto Sherlock's chest, licking gently at the scratches he'd left and luxuriating in the feel of skin on skin. Of everything, this felt the most illicit.  The fucking was all in the heat of the moment, but huddling together on the sticky sheets and trembling with aftershocks? That was dirty and wrong. It was better than anything he'd planned.

Sherlock fell asleep with Jim wrapped around him, tying knots into his curls.

**

Was is good for

you too? 

-  JM

 

** All good things  **

** \- SH **


End file.
